


Fire

by shenko464



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sirens, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23512375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenko464/pseuds/shenko464
Summary: “I…nnhh…I trust you…” Vernon’s words surprised Geralt. Vernon never trusted anyone; his work instilled a strong sense of self-reliance and the habit of not trusting anyone fully.“Just…ahh…”Vernon’s head was thrown back, leaving his neck exposed to the white wolf. It was implicit permission from Vernon, a wordless plea to help him and Geralt was not one to refuse such a delightful request.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vernon Roche
Comments: 16
Kudos: 91
Collections: White and Silver





	Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taekaneru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taekaneru/gifts).



> Written for Taekaneru who writes wonderful stories of Geralt and Roche and asked for this particular prompt of huddling around the fire.

It was all a mess. A big fucking mess. 

At least that’s what Roche kept telling himself as he slogged through the mud in this gods-forsaken forest or whatever they were in. His leather boots made a strange squelching sound as they thudded through the forest floor. Black clouds swirled here and there, fast-moving and always biting at whatever flesh was available. He managed to dodge most of them and swatted any stragglers that lingered too long behind the group.

“We need to move quicker,” a gruff voice called out ahead of him.

Roche’s eyes moved from where his feet were swallowed by the dark brown bog and to the broad back of the person he was traveling with.

“You know,” Roche began to say, “this is all your ploughing fault, witcher.”

The bite of the “witcher” wasn’t as acerbic as it used to be. After all, traveling together through the haze of violence and politics often forces even two bitter enemies to become combat friends at the very least. While their acquaintance hadn’t started as frosty as it could be, the relationship was still thawing out at best.

Roche followed his instincts as he usually does. When he initially saw his King’s body lying on the cobblestone, the pool of blood still fresh and spreading out into grasping tendrils, his initial reaction was to have his men kill the King right there and then.

After all, the evidence was damning – the witcher was the only one present, his sword was already out and his proximity to the dead King indicated that he had a hand in King Foltest’s death.

What stopped his order was the witcher’s willingness to be tied like a mutant dog, roughly and bruised as his men, clearly distraught by the death of their King, took out their anger on the bound witcher. 

The witcher could have easily taken them, especially when none of the Temerian soldiers had their crossbows. 

His unusual magic and constitution gave the witcher unprecedented advantage in close-quarters combat. 

Thus, Roche knew that something else was going on and decided to take Geralt prisoner. The rest was history and ultimately led the two of them here, slogging through the flatlands between the mountains on either side of them. 

It had rained recently and a lot. The deluge caused several nearby creeks to swell and overflow. They had to leave the horses behind right before the mountain ranges were in view, knowing that the arduous trek ahead of them would be too much for the expensive mounts to journey through without facing death or injury. 

**“Well, I could certainly use Roach,” Jaskier’s voice sounded ecstatic at finally getting the witcher’s horse. “No point slogging through it all like you two. Besides, it’ll ruin my lute and my livelihood.”**

Geralt had scoffed at that and Roche inwardly laughed at the sight of the bard’s pouting face.  
The Temerian must have let out a sound for Geralt’s head tilted slightly in his direction and there was that damn smirk on the pale face. 

“Says the person who chose this route instead of going with the main Temerian delegation.”

“Shut it, witcher,” Roche’s voice had that familiar bite to it, perhaps trying to irritate the witcher but it did the exact opposite. It pulled another smirk and Roche just muttered underneath his breath, knowing full well that Geralt could hear everything still but not caring either.

Roche was so focused on the slogging boots that he failed to see Geralt stop suddenly and he bumped into him, meeting a wall of solid muscles and steel. 

“What is it now?”

“Sshh,” Geralt commanded and the insolent tone of that command made Roche’s blood boil. The Temerian was going to say something when an entirely different sound echoed ahead of them. 

A soft groan could be heard from the looming trees and the branches groaned in the strong bustle of wind, the leaves rustling loudly and sounding like snakes in the grass.  
“Why is there a forest here?” Roche whispered, his hand already lifting out his falchion and gripping it tightly. As he talked, his breath came out in white curls and he shivered. 

The temperature change was drastic, having gone from warm to just above freezing. It felt unnatural and the humming of Geralt’s medallion informed both travelers that something was not right here. 

“It’s an illusion,” Geralt’s voice was soft and low. Against the backdrop of the sudden quietness, however, the witcher’s voice seemed loud. 

The witcher stayed stock still and Roche wanted to move away, to perhaps find another way to Loc Muinne. He was not going to die stuck in the middle of gods-forsaken nowhere.

“We need to get out of here,” Roche said and he took a step back only to find himself falling into a pool of ice.

It felt like being plunged into a pit of spikes, a trap that he and Ves would make the night before a skirmish with a target. Agony set his skin afire and cold-numbed hands unwillingly let go of his sword. 

He tried to call for Geralt but all that came out were bubbles of air, precious now that he was underwater. 

_Where the fuck this come from?!_

He could have sworn that he and Geralt were venturing into swamplands before the deep valley of the mountains. There shouldn’t even be a lake of ice or whatever this was. 

Something flitted around his feet and Roche peered downward, only to see a pale female face peering at him. Beautiful blue eyes gazed back at him and she swam closer to him. 

He gasped as slender hands clutched at his face and unwillingly let slip a moan as the woman brought them even closer together, to slant her full lips on top of his. 

A fog had settled over him, drowning out any other noises, any protests that Vernon may have had in kissing the mysterious lady. 

Glazed brown eyes failed to take in the serpentine tail wrapping around his chest and legs, effectively binding him still.

“Oh my…” the lady whispered seductively in the dark water, her tongue flicking out to graze against Vernon’s lips. “Such a handsome specimen. I’m tempted to just keep you enthralled so I can feed on you for a long time.”

Vernon let out another soft moan as slender hands reached out around his neck, the delicate fingers rubbing tantalizing circles at the nape of his neck.

“…che! Roche!!”

Someone was…was someone calling him?

“Vernon!! Whoreson, snap out of it!”

The moniker caused a surge of anger in the man, giving him enough focus to resist the thrall the creature had put him in. 

Vernon’s awareness came back to him in a rush, painfully aware of the freezing depths of the water he was in and at how he couldn’t move, his hands bound at his sides.

“Ohhh…It would have been better if you died peacefully in my spell,” the lady cooed at him and it caused his stomach to twist uncomfortably. “Now, I have to eat you up in a hurry.”

Her full lips split into four, like a grotesque parody of a flower opening up its petals to let an insect in to taste the forbidden fruit inside. A strange sensation ran throughout his body and Vernon realized that it was fear. That intangible feeling of helplessness in the face of death. He hadn’t felt like that for some time, not even during his missions before King Foltest’s untimely demise. 

He struggled and the creature merely tightened her coils around him, causing him to exhale what precious air he had left. 

A different type of fog settled in, this time of unconsciousness and Vernon tried to fight it just as he futilely attempted to escape the creature’s hold on him. 

However, the sudden plunge into freezing waters, as well as the lack of much-needed air, swiftly sent his body into shock, bleeding away his awareness.

The last thing he was aware of was a strong arm wrapping around his chest and pulling him upwards. Maybe the creature was going to eat him after all…

-o0o-  
Geralt cursed at the sight of the Temerian disappearing underneath the ice, which appeared out of nowhere. An illusion this powerful, to where even objects could feel different, was undoubtedly the work of a very dangerous creature. He ran to the edge of the icy waters, where Vernon fell into and called out the Temerian’s name. Panic surged through the witcher when his calls were met with silence and the bubbles that once littered the surface decreased till there were only a few left.

His medallion hummed constantly, even as he dove after the Temerian, and the vibrations increased in intensity when approaching a feminine figure whose tail was wrapped around a still figure. A siren was responsible for dragging Vernon into this watery grave.  


_Fuck! She has him in a thrall!_

The icy depths would have slowed a normal man’s movements. Thankfully, a witcher’s constitution was hardier and was able to endure the freezing temperature longer than that of a normal human.

The heavy water slowed his movements to where it took a lot to just drag out his crossbow.  


The siren’s focus was wholly focused on her victim and Geralt’s heart clenched at the way it kissed Vernon, the forked tongue plunging into the enthralled man’s mouth. He could tell that Vernon was trying to fight the thrall, the man’s body shaking and trembling as it tried to break free of the constricting grip of the siren’s tail. 

It was useless and Geralt wasted no time aiming his weapon at the creature’s head. As it pulled back, taking Vernon’s last breath of air, Geralt released the bolt and watched with satisfaction as the bolt darted through the water and into the siren’s head. Blood pooled around her pale face and it was eerily beautiful at how the redness contrasted beautifully with the pearlescent white. 

The tail immediately slackened and Vernon’s body was released, only to float there like a stringless puppet.

Geralt swam to Vernon and he wrapped his arm around the man’s torso. His legs moved in the water in powerful kicks, the movements propelling them upward until they finally reached the surface. Only one man gasped in air, while the other lay limply in his partner’s grasp. 

“Vernon?” Geralt called out to Vernon, hoping for some sort of response. None came and Geralt swam as fast as he could to the edge of the cold lake. It hadn’t disappeared with the siren’s death so something else was responsible for all this. Until he gets the two of them safe and warm, however, finding the other creature would have to wait.

He pushed Vernon up on the edge, managing to move the arms and torso up on the edge without any trouble. The hard part was getting the lower half without having Vernon sink back into the water. 

He took in a deep breath and hauled himself upwards, the water leaving his clothes heavy and dripping. The sharp bite of the cold-pressed at the edge of his awareness and Geralt knew it was just a matter of time before he too would succumb to Cold’s Grip, a state where the body shuts down and the extremities become useless parts of the body. 

Vernon, however, wasn’t even breathing. He laid deathly still, the Temerian medallion on his chest lying above his heart. The blue gambeson was soaked through and Geralt knew that he would have to get Vernon out of the sopping wet clothes and into thick blankets quickly.  


First, though, he has to get the man breathing. Somehow, the slow ba bump ba bump of Vernon’s heart was still going albeit sluggishly as if the muscle could give out any moment.

Without hesitation, he tilted the man’s chin upwards to straighten out the passage of the airway leading from the mouth to the man’s lungs. He quickly opened Vernon’s mouth to ensure nothing was obstructing the passageway. Once Geralt saw it was clear, he pinched the unconscious man’s nostrils and placed his lips over that of Vernon’s. 

As he breathed into Vernon’s, he was conscious at how chapped and covered with ice, Vernon’s lips were lush and soft, almost like a woman’s, and subconsciously wondered how Vernon’s body would react if they were to kiss while the man was conscious.

_He’d probably bite me…_

It took a painful handful of tries but finally, Vernon spluttered awake, turning his head to the side as water streamed out of his mouth and nose. The man’s body shook and trembled and he curled into a fetal position, trying to stay warm. 

Good, his body is still shivering. That means he’s not deep into the Cold’s Grip yet.  
“Vernon, you’re ok. Had to get you breathing again.”

If the man heard him, he didn’t indicate so, just kept trembling and breathing.  
Knowing that Vernon was alive and safe for the moment, Geralt finally looked up to study his surroundings.

Trees loomed ahead of them and the witcher observed that he wasn’t the only living thing moving around. Soft growls echoed around him, accompanied by snarls and other harsh sounds of the forest.

At least there would be game to hunt. Geralt’s satchel had a week’s worth of food stored, thanks to Triss’ spell of expanding his satchel’s storage. He also had a few days’ worths of extra clothes and he was happy that he and Vernon were of similar weight and height. Vernon was only an inch or two shorter than him, although that ridiculous chaperone easily gave the man a few extra inches over Geralt’s. 

Using his experiences of traveling on the road for so long, namely by himself, he managed to settle the pair of them into an empty cavern that he discovered a little way down from where the illusion began. He was extremely thankful that the cavern was empty of both monsters and bones. 

A fire was crackling a few minutes later and Geralt carefully undressed the Temerian. He idly wondered what Vernon would say if he came to in the middle of this. Undoubtedly, he would be punched in the face or at least shoved off. The man hadn’t regained consciousness and Geralt grew a little concerned about it.

As the clothes slipped off, the dregs almost hanging on reluctantly to the shivering form the way a lover would Geralt saw a handful of scars litter the torso and thighs. One such scar had wrapped almost around one of the muscled thighs and he found himself trailing his finger along with it. How did he get that? Was it a knife wound or maybe a bolt had grazed along with it? Whatever the case may be, he hoped that Vernon would tell him about these scars someday. After all, he already told Vernon about some of them and he certainly didn’t miss how those brown eyes lingered a little too long on the ones on his chest. Vernon’s poker face would have fooled anyone but not the witcher, who could see the subtle rush of blood flowing down to his loins and the slight uptick of the man’s heartbeat.

_So, Vernon is interested in me…hmm._

The thought of coupling with men was not new to Geralt. He has lived for a century and, while most of his couplings were with sorceresses, the need for any sexual release was met with anyone who could perform, including a male partner. Most of those partners, however, were other witchers as society often shunned blatant sexual acts between those of the same sex. Witchers were the outliers and thus their sexual deviance was expected. 

It would be quite interesting to see how Vernon, proud Commander of the former Blue Stripes, would react to him. Hopefully by not putting a knife in his belly….

As he stripped Vernon of his wet clothes and dried him off, his eyes drifted appreciatively along the lithe form of the Commander. The Temerian’s slender build did not afford the man to build bulky muscles. Instead, the lean muscles lent Vernon a wiry sort of strength, a type that allowed him to use flexibility not easily given to men of stocky build.

A pained groan brought Geralt out of his musing and the witcher felt a flush of shame. The man was injured and Geralt would much rather show his appreciation to Vernon while the latter was fully conscious. Still, …it didn’t hurt to look for a few seconds.

With diligence borne of necessity, Geralt used one of his own set of clothes to dry them both off and the smell of male musk drifted into his nose. He had to restrain a moan when both Vernon’s and his scent mingled together. Gods above, this man was tempting him even while in an unconscious state.

It took Geralt a little longer than necessary to finally dress Vernon, at least donning him in a pair of dark brown trousers. He left the upper torso bare as sharing body heat was the quickest way to warming a body touched by the Cold’s Grip. 

As he slid underneath the thick bear furs and wrapped an arm around the trembling form, he let his eyes go half-mast and transitioned into a meditative state, aware enough only to sense antagonistic movements but that’s all.

Slow furtive movements brought him to full awareness and Geralt was unsure how much time had passed. The fire had died down to smoldering embers but luckily the sun was just starting to rise. The cold was still there, like a wolf pacing impatiently around a campfire and waiting for an opportunity of weakness. 

Vernon had finally stopped shaking; instead, he moved as if in a dream, his fingers twitching and grasping at the soft furs below them. The cave had heated up considerably, even with the fire dwindling over time.

Seeing as how the cold was still present outside of their small cave, Geralt sighed heavily, knowing that he had to keep the fire going to keep his friend warm. He didn’t want the man to relapse back, fearful that the recovery would be harder and longer next time.

Vernon nuzzled further into the blankets, shivering slightly as Geralt gently pulled back the furs, enough so that he could slip out without letting the cold air disturb Vernon. Despite his best efforts, the Temerian curled and elicited a soft moan, as if he was already missing the warmth of Geralt’s body. 

“I’ll be back,” Geralt whispered though he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was to ease Vernon’s fear of being left alone or maybe the witcher had hoped that Vernon would suddenly wake up and bite back another snarky comment. Such was their way of communicating so far. While it was fun to tease the Commander before, the brutal murders of the Blue Stripes sullied the man’s mood and Geralt felt it was inappropriate to continue his banter. 

He dressed in his spare leathers and armor before feeding the dying fire more sticks. He probably should set wards and do a cursory patrol around their makeshift home, at least to familiarize himself with the new surroundings. However, Vernon hadn’t woken and Geralt was worried now.

The man should be waking up now. Had the siren bitten him before she died? She did kiss him and Geralt’s fists tightened when he recalled at how glazed Vernon’s eyes were, as if not seeing the terrible monster that was about to suck his life force out. This siren was an abnormality by itself. The creature usually travels in a pack with the others. Yet the one he killed was alone and shared a similar poison to its distant cousin, the succubus. Perhaps it was an evolved form or maybe a chimera of sorts, mixing in all the deadly characteristics of a siren and a succubus. All in all, this whole situation was rather strange. 

As if on cue, Vernon shifted underneath the blankets, releasing sounds of distress and frustration. The cold must have slowed down the effects of the venom in the siren’s saliva. The fire, while it provided the necessary warmth, also catalyzed the venom, causing it to start its course.

“Shit,” Geralt cursed underneath his breath. _This was not the way I wanted to do this…_

“…nnghh…G-Geralt…”

Geralt turned around only to see Vernon’s body shifting restlessly, the blankets barely covering the man’s lower torso and thighs. A light sheen of sweat covered the man’s chest and there was a noticeable bulge where Geralt knew was Vernon’s cock hardening as the venom raced throughout his body. 

There was only one cure for a succubus’ bite and that was to gently coax its victim into the throes of orgasm. Lucky for Vernon, the siren was a young adult and thus hadn’t the chance to refine her poison.

Vernon’s eyes slit open and Geralt was shocked to find some lucidity in those dark brown orbs. It lent credibility to the Temerian’s strong will as most victims would have their eyes completely clouded over, already giving in to the full effects of the siren’s venom.  
Now, with some coherence, it would be even more difficult to convince Vernon that…that he would need to join with Geralt. 

“Vernon…” Geralt unwittingly drew closer to the man, drawn in by the increasing musk of arousal. His face bent closer to Vernon, who panted and sighed in intermittent bursts. The man shut his eyes, as if in pain or maybe out of embarrassment.

“W-w-what’s happening to me?” Vernon groaned and the man clutched at his cock, a hand clenching hard around it as if he could simply force his erection back down. Instead, the hard grip merely worsened the erection and Vernon’s hips unconsciously thrust forwards. “F-fuck…”

“It’s the saliva of that siren,” Geralt explained and it took all of his will power to not lend a hand to the man, to not cover the quivering shaft with his warm one. Geralt closed his eyes, perhaps not seeing the man in forced throes of pleasure would help abate the witcher’s rising arousal. 

“P-please…” Vernon panted and the man clutched at his light shirt, his hands fisting themselves tightly. “Please help me…”

“Vernon,” Geralt’s voice was hoarse and rough. “You-you can’t know what you’re asking. You’re not conscious.”

“I…nnhh…I trust you…” Vernon’s words surprised Geralt. Vernon never trusted anyone; his work instilled a strong sense of self-reliance and the habit of not trusting anyone fully. 

“Just…ahh…”

Vernon’s head was thrown back, leaving his neck exposed to the white wolf. It was implicit permission from Vernon, a wordless plea to help him and Geralt was not one to refuse such a delightful request.

-o0o-

Warm…no…it was hot, so hot and yet he was shivering as if his body was still floating in those icy waters. 

His entire body felt as if it was lit aflame, the sensation crawling along his extremities and his chest only to gather at his lower regions.

The last thing he remembered was someone pulling him from the icy lake. Was it Geralt? Had the witcher rescued him finally from that terrible creature?

He shifted, hoping to find some sort of relief with his growing hardness. The heavy furs bore down on him, stifling his movements and making the cave feel impossibly hotter.  
Geralt’s face swam into his view and Vernon idly wondered why Geralt was staring at him so concernedly. His lips were moving but the only thing Vernon noticed was the scalding heat of the witcher, how the warmth radiated and settled easily against his chest. 

He’d long left the idea of romance behind but the witcher’s presence began to stir something deep inside of him. It unfurled and began to spread throughout his limbs. A craving for human touch with such intensity that Vernon wanted to curl back inside of him, scared of his wants and desires. He had thought of Geralt as a bed partner but this whole kingslayer business warranted his full attention. Now, here, in a warm cave, stuck underneath an impossibly warmer body, the only thought was of Geralt. 

“…You…you can’t know what you’re asking,” Geralt’s words were strange. Of course, Vernon knows what he’s ploughin’ asking. Did the witcher think that he was completely taken by the situation?

“…Nnn…I’m…” A heavy fog settled over his mind, slowing his cognitive thoughts but deepening everything else, including his sense of touch and smell. He could smell the rising musk in the air and feel the desperate warmth that radiated from Geralt’s body.

“I trust you…”

Another burst of desperation spread through him, a feeling of want to be held by someone, to be fucked…He threw his head back and cried out as unstoppable waves of desire ripped out of him.

Chapped lips latched onto his offered throat and Vernon elicited a soft groan at teeth nipping none too gently at the tendons. The rough nips were offset by large hands tenderly sliding alongside his flanks until one hand palmed a muscular buttock. A squeeze drew another rough sound out of Vernon and he grabbed a hold of Geralt’s shoulder, which was covered by a white undershirt.

The rough fabric rubbing against his heated flesh merely heightened the sensation and Vernon gasped at Geralt’s hand roughly taking his cock in hand, the deft fingers trailing up and down in a teasing manner. 

“F-fuck…don’t…uhh!” 

Geralt’s lips moved against his jaw, where the top hinge met his earlobe. He could feel the damn bastard smirking and Vernon regretted letting Geralt go at the La Valette prison. 

“Seems you’ve got a strong will, Commander,” the witcher’s husky voice breathed into his ear and Vernon shivered though it was due to him being cold and not because of a soft tongue licking at the earlobe. “Most people would be screaming to be taken. You though…”

Another damn lick, another set of horribly undignified pants and gasps released out of his mouth. 

Vernon tried to stifle his sounds but Geralt chose that moment to take his hands into his larger ones and pin them to a space above his head, against the cavern wall. The biting cold jolted Vernon out of his siren-induced fog, if only for enough time to register that Geralt’s head was traveling south. 

_Fuck…fuck…no_

While he did permit Geralt to help him, he’d rather that Geralt just prepare and plough him quickly. 

This torturous show of affection wrecked Vernon as if the witcher knew that loving touches would prolong his pain or maybe pleasure. 

Geralt planted soft kisses along an invisible line between his pectorals. Vernon watched with hazy eyes as the witcher seemed to follow down a line and he let out a soft ‘uhh!’ at the sight of a pink tongue fluttering into his belly button. 

_Shit…no one’s…no one’s done that!_

He shut his eyes, not wanting to see the witcher flick that wonderful tongue of his in and out of his belly button, as if mimicking what he truly wanted to do with Vernon except in a different hole. 

Vernon’s face flushed a deep red at the image of him and Geralt thrusting against each other. He hoped maybe that Geralt sucking him would be enough. Gods, please let that be enough…  


Brown eyes flew open at the hot sensation of his cock being taken into a warm mouth and Vernon’s hips betrayed its owner by unconsciously bucking further into Geralt’s wet mouth. His cock went in deep until it hit a muscled wall and Vernon cried out at Geralt deliberately tightening his throat muscles. 

“G-Geralt!!” 

He arched his back and tried to move his hands from the tight grip but couldn’t.  
Geralt repeated his motion over and over until Vernon’s body grew taut as a bowstring and semen splashed hotly into the witcher’s mouth.

Vernon collapsed against the blankets below him and he moaned at the sight of Geralt swallowing his seed and then licking the tip of his cock as if trying to coax every liquid out of him. 

To his astonishment, Vernon’s cock hardened again and another burst of want spread through his body. His skin tingled and prickled and his head felt heavy as if he was swimming through a murky pool. 

“…it didn’t…fuck…” Vernon managed to say or rather gasp out.

“Hmmm,” Geralt licked up the trail of his shaft and then downwards to softly suckle on his testicles before trailing down to another hole. _No…please….not there…_

Soft flesh licked at his entrance, patiently and gently before suddenly piercing inside of him. Soon all that Vernon was capable of saying were strained moans of Geralt’s name, of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘more’. If he were more lucid, he would have been embarrassed at how he sounded like an absolute whore. It didn’t take long for Vernon to come again, what little seed was left in the sacs now dribbled helplessly out of his cock. 

Geralt, for his part, looked somewhat concerned now. The smirk that was there originally had disappeared into a tight line, as if the witcher couldn’t believe that Vernon’s body wanted more of him. 

“Roche…” the witcher whispered to him. “I need to…it’s the only way I think…”

“P-plough it all…” Vernon huffed almost angrily but the heat of it dissipated into another low moan. His body thrust itself towards the witcher and Vernon swallowed hesitantly at what Geralt was insinuating.

He’d never taken another man inside of him. He was always on top, his need for staying in control demanded it. Now though, it seems as if he was stuck in the bottom role, something he was terrified of, especially now with the witcher. 

“I’ll be gentle,” Geralt said tenderly and that made it worse. Vernon wished that Geralt wasn’t gentle but more of an animal. He expected the witcher to take him by force and had fully anticipated the agony of being taken by a being stronger than him. 

Instead, Geralt caressed his back, as if soothing a frightened colt. Hot breaths pressed insistently against his skin until lips wrapped around a hard nipple. 

Vernon had failed to notice that his hands were no longer bound by Geralt’s. He was too lost in the vortex of need to see that Geralt held a buttock in one hand while another spread his cheeks wide until a slender digit slipped in.

He immediately tensed at the initial breach and clamped hard around the finger. 

Geralt seemed to anticipate his reaction for he went to another nipple, taking the hard nub into his warm mouth and flicking his tongue against it. Small bursts of pleasure tingled down Vernon’s spine, enough so to let his body relax around the finger and then allowing two to three more. 

It was a strange feeling, to be breached by these appendages and Vernon, even in his lust-induced haze, was unsure of what to make of it. 

Then, suddenly, he let out another hoarse scream as the fingers bumped into something and he let out a shrill cry of Geralt’s name.

“…finally…” was all Vernon heard from Geralt before he was urged to turn over unto his stomach and spread his legs further. Cold air weighed down on him, around him and Vernon turned his head, to regard Geralt sifting through his satchel and then bringing out a bottle with a colorless liquid in it. 

“…oil...it’ll help…” Geralt explained almost perfunctorily as if the witcher was teaching a student how to copulate with another male. 

Vernon swallowed at the largeness of Geralt’s erection and squeezed his eyes at the initial push, almost clamping down tightly around the invading tip. 

It brought out a curse from the witcher and for a moment Vernon smiled at how he could make the witcher swear and lose his cool. 

As if in retaliation, however, an oil-slicked hand wrapped around his hardening cock and then roughly stroked him. Vernon’s eyes widened at how easily his body began to relax around the shaft edging its way into him and he let out a groan of frustration.

“…Geralt…that’s…nnggh…that’s enough…”

His plea fell on deaf ears and Vernon panted and heaved when Geralt finally bottomed out, no longer able to go deeper inside of him. 

He felt so full and the feeling was not entirely painful as he imagined it. Uncomfortable yes but not agony like he expected. 

His hands scrambled against the wall as Geralt slowly pulled out before sharply pushing in one smooth thrust. The power of Geralt’s push into him forced his head forward and he would have broken his nose had he not had hands already pushing in counter to Geralt’s movement. 

The witcher didn’t wait for him to stabilize. His movements were consistent and powerful as if he were straddling a wild horse that still needed breaking.

“Gods…Vernon…you feel so good…” 

“…fuck you…” Vernon hissed at him and he cried out at the increased weight on his back when Geralt leaned forward, his new position angling his cock wonderfully against whatever that spot was, stars exploding across his vision.

“…I’m fucking you and you’re enjoying it,” Geralt said to him in a steady voice, as if the witcher was unaffected by their situation.

Whatever comment Vernon had ready was lost in a high-pitched moan as Geralt moved his hips but still laid across him. The added weight forced Vernon down, to where he had to angle down his back.

An unbearable pressure bloomed in his chest and Vernon’s body trembled in the beginnings of the familiar pang of orgasm. 

_Fuck…no…uhhh!_

Vernon tried to deny this, did his best to postpone the inevitable by biting his lower lip but he couldn’t deny his body that this is what he truly needed – to have control taken away and let someone else dictate his path. 

As he bowed his head down, breathing heavily and sweating, he thought of nothing else except the hard slides of Geralt, the way the witcher panted in his ear and elicited low growls that sent an indescribable tingle in his spine. A hand gripped a hipbone almost tightly, perhaps too tightly and Vernon wondered if he was perhaps a masochist, letting the pain enhance this profound experience. 

Another hand snaked its way to one of his nipples and roughly tugged at it, causing Vernon to gasp and shake uncontrollably.

Soft kisses were planted along his shoulder blades and then teeth nipped sharply at the junction of where the shoulder met the neck.

“Enough….please…ahhh…”

Vernon hated the tenderness of Geralt’s ministrations. He didn’t deserve it, not after all he’s done in life – the tortures, the dark joy of making his enemies suffer before dying.

“…just let go…” came the rough command and, like a dog obeying its master, Vernon’s body tightened and a hoarse scream echoed in the cave followed by a whisper of Vernon’s name.

Vernon’s body became boneless and his arms fell, no longer having the strength to maintain their original position. The release exhausted him and he panted heavily, the warm breaths curling in white wisps out in the frigid air. 

A hand caressed his back in smooth strokes and he inwardly appreciated the gesture though he’ll never admit it to Geralt.

He felt so heavy, as if moving through a bog, and then moaned as another wave of want moved through him. It was weaker than the initial ones but still made him groan out of desperation. His cock lay limp and wet against his thigh but slowly started to harden again. 

_Fuck…I’m…I’m going to die from this…_

Cobwebs filled his head and Vernon vaguely remembers being moved to sit astride the witcher, a hard cock still inside of him. 

“…you can do it…just a few more…” Geralt’s words praised his weak efforts and Vernon moaned at how his body managed to move on its own accord, forcing the cock to slide deeper until it brushed against his prostate. “I’ve got you…”

Another weak burst of pleasure coursed inside of him and Vernon collapsed against Geralt’s chest, thoroughly wrecked from coming several times in one evening. 

The cave spun sickeningly and Vernon had to shut his eyes otherwise he may vomit. A hard cup was pressed against his lips and he opened his mouth instinctively, swallowing the tepid water. It soothed his parched mouth and throat, both having gone raw and hoarse from his cries and shouts. 

If he’d a mind to, he would push Geralt off and sulk in a dark corner. However, weakened from their couplings, all Vernon could do was accept Geralt’s attention and what shocked him the most was that he didn’t truly mind at all. _As long as it’s Geralt…_ was his last coherent thought before slipping into a much-needed sleep.

-o0o-

Geralt sighed heavily as he watched Vernon blink sleepily at him, the man clearly too exhausted to even say something after their rounds of desperate sex.

He couldn’t deny that he liked Vernon pliant and wanting but hated that it had to be from a creature’s bite instead of the man’s will. Still, the way Vernon gazed at him in the beginning and called out his name instead of ‘witcher’ had him consider that Vernon, deep down, knew what was happening and unconsciously allowed this. 

He slipped out of the man, missing the warmth of his body with a soft groan, and gave the Temerian a small cup of water to which the man eagerly took before laying his head down and promptly passing out. 

Once he was sure that Roche was no longer conscious, he brushed the few errant locks of hair from the forehead and kissed the brow with a reverence that was usually reserved for Triss.

“I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about when you wake up next,” Geralt said softly to the sleeping man.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I did both characters justice in this 'screw or die' scenario'
> 
> @Taekaneru, hope this keeps you warm too! Lol


End file.
